“I'm sure of it. And so, if your suspicions are correct, and poor Falcon should yield to a sudden temptation, and spend all that money, I shall just coolly deduct it from your share of this wonderful stone: so make your mind easy. But no; if Falcon is really so wicked as to desert his happy home, and so mad as to spend thousands in a month or two, let us go and save him.”
“That is my business,” said Phoebe. “I am going in the mail-cart to-morrow.”
“Well, you won't go alone,” said Dick.
“Mrs. Falcon,” said Staines imploringly, “let me go with you.”
“Thank you, sir. My brother can take care of me.”
“Me! You had better not take me. If I catch hold of him, by —- I'll break his neck, or his back, or his leg, or something; he'll never run away from you again, if I lay hands on him,” replied Dick.
“I'll go alone. You are both against me.”
“No, Mrs. Falcon; I am not,” said Staines. “My heart bleeds for you.”
“Don't you demean yourself, praying her,” said Dick. “It's a public conveyance: you have no need to ask HER leave.”
“That is true: I can't hinder folk from going to Cape Town the same day,” said Phoebe sullenly.